


Home and Away

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Series: Joe's Son by Mona Ramsey [3]
Category: Highlander: The Series, The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Crossovers: Highlander, Drama, M/M, Partner Betrayal, Series: Joes Son, crossovers, other pairing - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-02-24
Updated: 2000-02-24
Packaged: 2017-12-11 01:53:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/792680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Richie finds himself with his hands full when Joe leaves for Paris just as his son, Blair, comes for a visit.<br/>This story is a sequel to And Light Breaks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home and Away

**Author's Note:**

> Post TSbBS.

 

## Home and Away

by Mona Ramsey

Author's webpage: <http://www.geocities.com/monaram/>

* * *

"Home and Away"  
by MonaR.  
monaram@yahoo.com

"It shouldn't be a long trip," Joe said. "Although, you can never tell with MacLeod." He pulled up a stool to the bar and sat down. A travel bag lay on the floor at his feet.

"No, you can't," Richie agreed. "Is Methos going?"

Joe shook his head. "I don't know. The last time we talked, I think they were having a 'minor disagreement' over Duncan himself going." He shrugged. "You know Methos - he wields words like Duncan does a sword. They'll make up, eventually, whatever Duncan decides to do."

Richie sighed. "I'm beginning to hope that I don't get so old that my past comes back to haunt me at every corner," he said.

"Rich, I have to say that I hope you _do_ get that old, and older."

Richie grinned. "Thanks, Joe."

The outside door opened, letting a slice of light into the dim interior of Joe's bar. "We're not open yet," Joe called out to the silhouette in the doorway.

"Not even for family?" Blair Sandburg walked into the bar and let the door shut behind him. He dropped a duffel bag on the floor, and undid his coat.

Joe couldn't hide his shock at seeing him. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

Richie rolled his eyes. "Nice greeting, _dad_ ," he said to Joe, and waved Blair over, giving him a hug. "Hey, how are you? Where's Jim?"

Blair gave him a strained smile, and said, "I'm fine, and I don't know."

Joe and Richie looked at each other, communicating without words the way only a long-term couple could. "So," Richie said. "What brings you to Seacouver in the middle of November? It can't be the great weather."

Blair smiled at him a little more easily. "It's just about the same thing in Cascade," he said, sitting down at a table close to the bar. "Feels like it's been raining for a couple of weeks, now."

"Fall's a pretty depressing season," Joe agreed. "Makes you look at things differently."

Blair nodded. "Yeah. Sometimes makes you see things a little more clearly." He noticed the other bag on the floor beside his own and asked, "Did I come at a bad time?"

"It's never a bad time," Joe said. "I'm going to Paris in about an hour, that's all."

"I guess I should have called first," Blair said. "I seem to have bad timing in general, lately."

"Only if you were planning on only staying for a day. I should only be gone for the weekend - Tuesday, at the latest," Joe said. "I hope you'll stay longer - Richie could use the company."

Richie grinned. "He just wants someone to chaperone me," he said, with a conspiratorial wink at Blair. "I _have_ a Watcher, already."

Blair shook his head. "I don't know how you guys get used to that," he said. "Having someone watch your every move, 24/7. That would seriously make me paranoid."

"It isn't that bad," Richie said. "I don't even know who my watcher is, because _someone_ keeps saying it's classified information."

"It _is_ classified information, Rich," Joe protested.

"Yeah. Do as I say - "

"Do you two ever leave it alone?" Blair asked, laughing. "You're like an old married couple."

"We are an old married couple," Richie retorted. "You get like that after you're together a couple decades." He shook his head, and sighed. "You young people just don't understand - "

Blair laughed even harder. "One, I'm older than you, and two, you _look_ young enough - "

"By a couple of months," Richie said. "You're older than me by a couple of months, not twenty years. I get enough of that from Joe and Mac and Methos, so don't _you_ start. And what I look like has nothing to do with it."

"Okay, you two, break it up," Joe said, raising his hands in a call for peace. "Rich, I've got to get to the airport. Blair, go to the house, and get settled. Don't let him leave before I come back, kid."

"Don't worry about it." Richie gave Blair a key to the house, and said, "I'll be back after his flight leaves. You hungry?"

"I could eat."

"I'll pick something up on the way. You remember how to get to the house?"

"Yeah," Blair nodded. He looked at Joe, a little awkward. "Thanks."

"I'm not doing anything," Joe said, and then added, "You're welcome."

* * *

"So, what do you think it is?" Richie asked, in the car on the way to the airport.

"Just by the look on his face, I'd say they had a fight. A _big_ one, if it drove him right out of Cascade."

"Yeah," Richie nodded. "I wish you were staying to talk to him."

"You've had enough practice, kid. You'll know what to say - or not to say."

"I hope you're right, Joe." He pulled into a spot and turned off the engine. "Since when did we get into the Dear Abby business, anyway?"

"More like advice to the lovelorn," Joe chuckled. "Hey, we're perfect at this relationship stuff; it's only normal that others would want to learn from our example."

"Yeah," Richie agreed. "You work on Duncan in Paris, and I'll work on Blair and Methos here."

"If Methos stays here."

"I don't think he's going anywhere. He's no good at baby-sitting, and it kills him to watch Duncan walking into another fight."

"I know how he feels." Joe leaned over and kissed Richie on the mouth. "Got to make that last until I get back, you know."

"I've kept some in storage, for just such an occasion." Richie gave him another kiss, even longer. "We'd better get your stuff out of the trunk," he said, at last. "Otherwise, you'll miss your flight and have to stay here with me."

"One of these days you'll have to give me some sword-fighting lessons so I can kick MacLeod's ass myself, you know that?" Joe growled.

Richie laughed. "You've got it, Joe. Come on, let's get going. Sooner you go, the sooner you get back."

* * *

It was fully dark by the time Richie got back from the airport, with a stop to pick up an order of Chinese food along the way. He wasn't completely surprised to see Methos' truck in the driveway beside Blair's car, too. He was actually glad that the old man was there, knowing how much he and Blair enjoyed each other's company. Of course, if they were both in a funk over relationship troubles, the evening might just be a long bitch session.

Sighing, Richie juggled the bags of take-out and his keys, and opened up the door. It was a chilly evening and Blair had already lit the fire in the fireplace, giving the living room a cozy glow. Methos was sprawled out in front of it, long legs stretching almost to the couch, where Blair lay on his side. Both had beers in front of them.

Richie dumped the take-out bags on the living room table and said, "Ah, Methos. Always a pleasure. You'll stay for dinner? I brought lots."

"Don't mind if I do," Methos said, nodding his head. "I happened to be in the neighbourhood, and saw a familiar car in the driveway, so I stopped." He took a pull off his beer, and then added, as if an afterthought, "Dawson get off all right?"

Richie nodded. "Yup. Flight to Paris was even on time, for a change." He refrained from asking a similar question about Duncan, knowing that he and Jim were probably topics best left alone tonight, if at all possible. "I'll go get plates. You two want some wine?"

"I'll have another beer," Methos said, and Blair added, "Yeah, beer's good for me, too. Chopsticks?"

"In the bag," Richie called out. "Probably on the bottom." He brought out plates and napkins and a single knife and fork. Blair raised an eyebrow at him, and he said, defensively, "Hey, I'm _hungry_ , okay? If I eat with the sticks it'll take hours and I'll _still_ be hungry."

"It just doesn't _taste_ the same with a fork," Blair said, shaking his head and passing over the rice.

"He'll learn, eventually," Methos said, scooping out a healthy portion of vegetables and noodles onto his plate. It never failed to amaze Richie how much the old guy could eat, and still look like a strong wind would knock him over. "Give him another century."

"Somehow, I don't think I'll be around to see it," Blair said.

"You never know," Methos said. "You're what? Twenty-eight?"

"Twenty-nine," Blair corrected.

"Well, in another hundred years, living to a hundred-thirty or -forty might not be such a rare occurrence. Think of the mortality rate a hundred years ago. You would have been middle-aged by now."

"That's true. Still, some people seem to think that the rate will plateau for several decades - or even a century - before it starts going up again. I mean, it can't continue at this rate into infinity. We're eradicating diseases that killed entire populations a century ago, and breeding new bacteria as a result."

Richie dug into his food with a tiny grin, listening to Blair and Methos discuss genetics and germ warfare and antibiotics and other methods of mass destruction, perfect topics for an autumn evening's meal.

* * *

Several hours later, the Chinese food demolished and most of the beer gone, Richie finally yawned and stretched. He looked at Methos, still comfortably cozy on the floor, and at Blair, who was deeply engrossed in a discussion with the old man about - well, about _something_ Methos had no doubt lived through a couple of millennia ago - and got up, taking the empty Chinese food containers with him into the kitchen. He deposited them in the garbage, opened up the linen closet in the hall and got out blankets and pillows, and took them into the living room, throwing them at Methos. "You know how the couch pulls out," he said. "I'm beat, and although this conversation is truly fascinating, I've got to get up tomorrow morning and meet a shipment at the bar." Before either one of them could protest, he smiled and said, "Stay up and talk. There's still a couple of beers in the fridge. G'night."

Methos nodded at him, and Blair said, "'Night, Rich," with a smile, and started right back into his conversation with Methos before Richie had even left the room.

Shaking his head, Richie pulled off his clothes and crawled into bed. The cold sheets suddenly reminded him exactly how many beers _he_ had had - although Blair and Methos both beat him out in that regard - and he jumped out and headed for the bathroom, wishing the bed would magically heat up in his absence - or that Joe would somehow appear to heat it up _for_ him. . .

* * *

A muted late-fall sunlight was streaming through the bedroom window when Richie woke up. It was only nine, and he groaned, realizing that he'd only managed less than six hours of sleep. Still, he had an hour to make some breakfast, shower, and get to the bar before the morning's shipment came in, so he resisted the urge to roll over and go back to sleep. Duncan had phoned before he left for Paris and asked him to look in at the dojo, too, so his day was already looking pretty full before it even started.

Yawning, he walked into the kitchen in robe and boxers and flipped on the coffee machine. At least it wasn't raining anymore, but despite the sunlight the day looked to be pretty chilly. It would be a nice day to stay in, and talk - Richie wondered if he could get his errands done this morning, and come back this afternoon and see what it was that was wrong between Blair and Jim. It had to be _something_ bad, if it was enough to send Blair running like he had, showing up at the bar without even a phone call. Richie cursed Joe's luck again, being called out of town on Watcher business just when his son arrived in town. Part of him hoped that Blair did stay long enough to spend some time with Joe; although they had a good relationship - especially considering the number of years that had passed without either of them knowing about each other - they didn't get to spend nearly as much time together as Joe would've liked. And something told him that Blair was maybe starting to feel the same way about his father.

Richie smiled and poured himself some coffee. He didn't feel really hung-over, just a little fuzzy around the edges, nothing that some breakfast and a shower wouldn't cure. He put a bagel in the toaster oven and went out to see if the mail had come, yet. Passing by the living room, he stopped in his tracks, noticing the bundle of bedclothes that still rested on the floor, where he'd thrown them last night. Cursing himself for not making sure that Methos would stay and not drive himself home last night, he opened up the front door and checked the mailbox, pulling out the dozen or so flyers and handful of letters inside.

And saw Methos' truck still in the driveway, beside Blair's car.

"Uh-oh." Richie shut the door against the fall breeze, and leaned against it, staring down the hallway at the closed door of the guest room. "Maybe he took a cab," he said to himself. "He could have taken a cab. Or, he could have sprouted wings and flown home. Yeah, that's probably it."

The smell of burnt toast sent him down the hall to the kitchen again, and he cursed his burned fingers as he pulled the very dark brown bagel out of the toaster oven. A little peanut butter and he didn't even notice the extra-crispy edges.

He sat in the dining room so that he could just see the edge of the door to the guest room, half willing it to open and half hoping that it wouldn't. Neither Blair nor Methos had seemed that drunk last night, just talkative. And they had certainly enjoyed each other's company -

"Even more than I thought, apparently," Richie said to himself, liking peanut butter and bagel crumbs off his fingers. Throw in the fact that both Methos and Blair were having relationship problems, and them deciding to cry on each other's shoulders - or whatever - suddenly seemed a natural. If they both hadn't already been involved when they met, Richie wouldn't have been surprised if they had paired up.

Of course, now that they _had_ paired up, all hell would be free to break loose. Maybe.

* * *

The bar business had taken longer than Richie thought it would, due to a mix-up in the order, and the phone was already ringing when he got to the dojo, so he didn't manage to get back to the house until almost two, absolutely starving for some lunch. Methos' truck was gone, but Blair's car was still there.

The day, which had started out so deceptively bright, turned cloudy mid-morning, and the rain returned once again. Richie found Blair in the dining room, drinking coffee and staring out the window. He poured himself a cup and sat down opposite. "So," Richie said, finally.

"So," Blair agreed, chewing on his cheek.

"Methos gone?"

Blair nodded. "He left about an hour ago."

"You want to talk about it?"

Blair sighed, coloured just slightly, and shook his head. "I don't know what happened."

Richie grinned. "I can think of a few names for it, if that would help."

"I don't think so." Blair sighed again. "I didn't intend for anything to happen, we just - we were talking, and I guess I'd had a little bit more to drink than - " He stopped himself, suddenly. "No, that wasn't it. I wanted it. I wanted to be with him - with _someone_ who wanted to be with _me_ , too. Me, just the way that I am."

"Unlike Jim?"

"Jim wants Blair Sandburg, Super-Cop," Blair said. "Not Blair Sandburg, failed grad student. I don't even know if I _want_ to go to the Police Academy, and all of a sudden, it feels like the next ten years of my life have all been planned out _for_ me." He looked up at Richie. "I just don't know if I can cut it. This isn't my dream."

"You tell Jim any of that?"

Blair shook his head. "I've tried. It's like talking to a brick wall sometimes, though. I know when I was teaching at the school and doing _my_ studies, that it was okay for him: I was in one place, we were working together when we had to, and he didn't have to worry about me suddenly going on a study for six months or a year somewhere halfway around the world. And it was good for me, too - I never had a home before I had Jim. And I like the police work - at least, some of it. But this much togetherness - if I go to the Academy and Simon makes good on his threat to make me Jim's partner, how the hell are we going to handle being together _all_ the time? At least before, I had school - I had something that was _mine_. This new plan for my life feels like it's happening _to_ me, not like I'm making it happen."

"And Methos?"

Blair smiled. "Methos just talks to me - and not about crooks or sports or what's the newest restraint technique at the station." He laughed. "That's not really fair - I mean, Jim's interested in more than that, but - "

"He's not Mr. Academic, like Methos," Richie said.

"No," Blair shook his head. "And I don't want him to be. I wouldn't want him to change that much. I just wonder what it is about _me_ that makes him want me to change so badly."

Richie didn't have an answer for him.

* * *

The weekend went by quickly; Blair and Richie spent most of their time together, except when Richie had to oversee the bar or go to the dojo. They went to a movie and a hockey game, saw everything interesting to see in Seacouver, and even a couple of uninteresting things.

Methos didn't show up at the house again, but he did call Blair a couple of times. Sunday night, he showed up at Joe's. Richie was behind the bar, and he raised a questioning eyebrow at the Immortal, who went to where Blair was sitting, at one of the tables. After a moment, he sat down, too.

Richie gave them five minutes, and then went over. "Can I get you anything?"

"A large glass of hemlock?" Methos said.

"I'm not even armed," Richie said, holding his hands up. "My sword's in the back." He pulled out a chair and sat down. "Look, this is _really_ none of my business. As far as I'm concerned, this is between the two of you, and I won't say anything to anyone about it."

"Not even Joe?" Methos asked.

"That's not really fair," Blair said. "I wouldn't expect you to lie to him, Rich."

"I don't have to lie," Richie said. "I won't tell him unless he asks me, and I don't expect _that_ to happen."

"A lie of omission, then," Methos said, evenly.

"Look, unless the two of you are planning on making a love-nest in our guest room, I won't say anything." Richie stood up. "Do you want a drink, or not?"

"He'll have a beer, and so will I," Blair said, shooting Methos a look that spoke volumes.

Richie went to get the beers. He took his time, before heading back to the table. After he sat the beers down, Methos stopped him, "Look, that was unfair of me. I'm sorry. This whole thing is just - awkward. I don't like putting other people in the middle of things like this. MacLeod is your teacher, and I don't want you to feel - "

"I don't feel anything, Methos. I don't know how I can explain this to you, other than to say that it _isn't_ any of my business." Richie leaned over with his hands on the table. "The only thing that I can suggest is that the two of you decide what you're going to do, because sooner or later Mac _is_ going to come back to Seacouver, and Jim _will_ figure out where you are, Blair, and I don't think you've got a whole lot of time left before one or both of those things happens." He gave them a look of sympathy. "If anything comes out, it won't come from me."

Blair nodded, and Richie went back behind the bar, where he spent most of the night keeping himself busy - but not quite busy enough to stop watching Methos and Blair talk.

* * *

Methos pulled his coat back on at midnight, and left the bar; Richie went over to where Blair was sitting, absent-mindedly pulling the label off his beer bottle. They'd both nursed the same drink the entire night, which had spoken volumes to Richie about how deeply engrossed they were in each other - not the way that they had been three nights earlier, at the house, but still -

"So, what did you decide?" Richie asked, sitting down.

Blair shrugged, and smiled, a little sadly. "He wants me to go away with him."

Knowing Methos as he did, that wasn't _entirely_ unexpected, but Richie still betrayed a little surprise. "Really?"

Blair nodded. "You know what the worst part is? I'm _so_ tempted to do it - just get on a plane and go to Australia, or China, or somewhere halfway across the world. We're both runners, Methos and I, and I _like_ running. It's all I've ever known. But if I run this time, then I don't get to come back. I know that. If I run, that means that Jim and I aren't 'Jim and I' anymore." He managed to pull the silver label off in one piece, and started to shred it into long strips on the table. "A part of me wonders if that hasn't already happened. And a part of me thinks, 'well, if _Methos_ leaves, he's got another thousand years to get back with Duncan if he wants to'." He balled up the strips of the shredded label, and dropped them into the empty ashtray on the table. "What am I going to do, Richie?"

"I wish I could tell you," Richie said. "I really wish I knew."

"I feel good when I'm with him, Rich," Blair said, with a sad sort of chuckle. "I feel _really_ good. If it hadn't been good, then this would be simple - I could chalk it up to an accident that probably shouldn't have happened. But maybe it was fate - I mean, what are the chances that I'd come to town the same weekend that Duncan and Joe were gone, and Methos was alone? What are the chances that we'd both have had a fight with the men in our lives? I always sort of thought, in the back of my mind, that if it wasn't for Jim - "

Richie nodded. "Yeah, I know."

"What is he like, Richie? Has he had other relationships, beside Duncan? That you know about, I mean."

"There was a girl - Alexa. He loved her; she was mortal, and she was sick. She died almost five years ago. I think - I think if she had lived, they would have been together a long time." Richie looked at Blair. "Mac told me that he wanted to show her the world, but they just didn't have enough time."

Blair just nodded, wordless.

* * *

It was four a.m. when the sudden feel of arms around him woke Richie from a dreamless sleep. He turned his head, and felt the brush of whiskers against his cheek as Joe kissed him. "Hey - why didn't you tell me you were coming back tonight?"

"Last minute decision," Joe said. "I got on a flight and just came. Took a cab from the airport."

"I would have come to get you - "

"I wanted to surprise you." Joe kissed him again, and then pulled off his coat. Richie rolled over to help him with the rest of his clothes. "When did Blair leave?"

Richie frowned at him. "Isn't he in the guest room?"

"His car's gone - "

Before Joe could say anything else, Richie got up and walked out of the room, to the guest room. He pulled open the door and saw that the drawers were open and empty, and the bed was made. Shaking his head, he went back into the bedroom, where Joe was half-undressed. "I was hoping he'd stay," Richie said.

"Yeah, I wish this visit hadn't been so short," Joe agreed. "It was bad timing, all around. But maybe he'll call in the morning, when he gets into Cascade."

"I hope so," Richie said, with a smile. He kissed Joe, and hugged him extra-tight. "I missed you."

"I missed you, too, kid."

The End  
MonaR.


End file.
